


The Words You Never Say

by Tamyou



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Frontotemporal Dementia, Multi, Not a Happy Story, Soul Bond, Stilinski Family Feels, no happy endings here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:24:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2299643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamyou/pseuds/Tamyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not every story has a happy ending. Stiles and Derek's certainly didn't. Can a person live without the other half of their soul?</p><p>Or</p><p>In a universe where your soulmate's name appears on your left wrist on your 18th birthday, not everyone gets their happily-ever-after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I wrote that. I just know this idea wouldn't leave me alone and of course would interrupt me in the middle of the writing of another story. So yeah.
> 
> Hope you'll like it :)
> 
> Chapters will be updated weekly.

Chapter 1

* * *

Derek Hale's 18th birthday started with a strange, tingling sensation on his left wrist.

That night, right when the glowing clock on his nightstand showed it was only fourteen minutes to midnight, Derek sat up in his bed, wide awake. He stared eagerly as the minutes ticked by, counting the seconds with his breath held in excitement.

Eleven minutes to go.

The skin on his wrist seemed to darken, only by a shade or two. Derek squinted, turning on the lamp on his nightstand. It started.

Eight minutes to go.

The bruise-like colored skin turned into a horizontal, long and thin smudge, tingling and sharpening with every second that passed. Derek's eyes flicked back to his clock.

Three minutes.

The smudge formed into dark letters, written in a short, square, clean handwriting. Derek frowned. This... thing, couldn't possibly be it. It couldn't be someone's real name.

Four seconds.

Three.

Two.

Seriously?

One.

That was it. Derek stared at his wrist for a few long minutes past midnight, a deep frown wrinkling his forehead as he wracked his brain, trying to form a few attempted versions of the words in his head. What kind of name was that? There had to be a mistake. The first and middle names alone were at least twelve letters long each, and those were only the ones Derek could recognize. Because, really, he couldn't even pronounce the name, let alone remember it.

What kind of parents would hate their child that much to name them that...? Derek shook his head in pity.

The last name was considerably easier, though. Stilinski. Derek couldn't figure whether this was a girl's name or a boy's, and it only served to frustrate him even more. How would he be able to find his soulmate if he couldn't even say the name? He growled in annoyance.

Jumping out of his bed, he slid into the chair in front of his desk and turned on his computer, quickly finding the Soulmate's-Pool-And-Information website - or, for short, S.P.A.I.N - and carefully typing in the insanely long name on his wrist, letter by letter. He practically slammed at the 'Enter' button, shifting impatiently as the page loaded agonizingly slow. Derek wanted to scream. Crappy internet connection.

_'Requested name not found.'_

Derek's heart sank. He stared at the words blinking on his screen, not really seeing, trying to reason with himself and come up with excuses as to why Stilinski was not in the names pool.

There was, of course, the option of death, but Derek didn't want to even think about it, shaking his head to get rid of the fear that gripped at his heart at the thought. A more probable explanation was that his soulmate was not old enough yet. Ever since S.P.A.I.N was established seven years ago, everyone at the age of sixteen added their names to the list, two years before their own mark showed. It was a huge improvement on the finding process, which up until then had soulmates finding each other through phone-books or destiny, if at all.

So, in conclusion, Derek chose to hold on to the option of his soulmate being too young to sign their name in yet. It was a little strange, knowing his mate was at least two years younger - just a kid - but then again, his aunt Julia was four years older than her husband and  _she_  only found him after a six-years-search, two years before S.P.A.I.N became a thing.

Derek couldn't imagine what it's like to search for your soulmate for that long, not knowing if they were still alive, or whether or not they gave up on you and married someone else... he only got  _his_  mark nearly forty minutes ago, and already he was on edge, his whole body swelling and vibrating with energy and eagerness to find them. He drummed his fingers on the top of his desk, chewing at his bottom lip anxiously.

He couldn't wait, he wanted - needed - to find them right away. Jealousy bubbled in his chest as he thought of Laura. His older sister got her mark two years ago, and it took her less than a week to find her soulmate. James Paul Webber, his name was. A British graduate from London. He contacted Laura through the Pool four days after his name appeared on her left wrist in his lean, long handwriting, having his own birthday only the previous day. How lucky was she? Derek thought bitterly. She found her mate insanely quickly, and even had him fly to the States within the next week after their first contact, getting him to move into the Hale house after only a couple of months of online dating.

Derek heard so much - especially from Laura - about the first time two soulmates touch each other. Everyone kept saying how wonderfully perfect it was, how complete it made you feel. Like you were only a half of a whole right up until you touch your mate for the first time... and that's how you really know. That's how you can never confuse them with another similar name, can never get the wrong one. That's why giving up on your soulmate was a rare - and in most cases, even frowned upon - option, and usually made only by ones that lost hope or already lost their soulmate.

Derek couldn't even think of such a thing.

The Bond, he heard about even more. He read books and articles and novels about it and the wonderful things people could do through it. Derek knew everyone could sense their mate's strongest feelings through it. Many could project images or thoughts to each other, if they practiced enough, although very few could actually carry out a conversation.

Once, on one of his research sessions, Derek even heard of three or four cases a year in which mates could keep each other alive long enough for them to receive medical treatment. It was rare, but possible. It fascinated him, the strength of a bond between two people and the things they could achieve together. He wanted to have that, desperately.

A sudden yawn made him snap out of his thoughts, and he covered his mouth and stretched, glancing to the side to take a look at his clock. 2 AM, the numbers glowed at him softly in the dark bedroom. He better go to bed... tomorrow is going to be a busy day, if he knew his family well enough. He could start his search tomorrow.

With that thought, Derek shuffled to and dropped on his bed and closed his eyes, quickly falling asleep with his right hand wrapped around his left wrist, right over the name written in that short, clean handwriting.

If you asked him in the morning what he dreamed about, he'd probably just shrug and say he didn't remember anything. But the image of a faceless person he didn't even know was burned into his eyelids, floating in front of him every time he closed his eyes.

* * *

At first, Derek wasn't sure what woke him up.

His alarm went off at 7 AM sharp, and at the same time two girls were jumping up and down on his bed with screams of joy and a very out-of-tune 'Happy Birthday' song, pulling his blankets off of him as they flopped down with a double-bounce of the mattress.

"Get off...!" Derek groaned and tried to bury his face back in his pillow, but Laura wouldn't have any of that. She snatched his pillow away with a huge grin as Cora - who was only fifteen years old and didn't have her name added to the Pool yet - giggled and squealed in excitement, clapping her hands together five times fast.

"Wake up, wake up!" Derek's younger sister shrieked happily, eagerly shaking his shoulder. "Let us see!"

"Come on, you lazy ass. Get up!" Laura joined in, grabbing Derek's shoulder as well and helping Cora turn him around. Derek squinted at them, growling in annoyance and yanking his hand free. With an irritated groan, he sat up, glaring at them both.

"You sure know how to wake a guy up." He grumbled, stifling a yawn through a half-hearted glare. Laura grinned.

"You're welcome." She said. "Now show us your arm!"

Too tired to argue, Derek obeyed and stretched out his hand, showing his sisters the longest name they have ever seen.

"Is that an S?"

"It doesn't look like an S..."

"Is this even in English?"

"Wow. Poor kid."

Derek nodded in agreement as his sisters made matching confused expressions, frowning at the strange name on his wrist.

"Can you even pronounce it?" Laura asked curiously. Derek shook his head.

"I just call them 'Stilinski'," He said, shrugging. "It's the only part I can say without biting my tongue off."

Cora frowned.

"Are they in the Pool yet?" She asked, even though the answer was already written bright and clear on Derek's face. He shook his head again.

"No." He said shortly, voice tight with disappointment.

"Well... maybe they're my age," She said with a smile, trying to cheer him up. Derek made a face.

"That's worse."

"You can't even tell if it's a girl or a boy," Laura mumbled distractedly to herself, Derek's hand still clasped in her grip as she turned it over and studied the dark inky scar. Derek gave her a look, snatching his hand back with a glare.

"You two are rays of sunshine." He said dryly. Cora giggled.

* * *

They were all sitting at the breakfast table when it started. Hale relatives and their families started pouring into the large kitchen shortly after Derek joined breakfast, congratulating him on his birthday and patting his back happily as children ran inside and around, screaming and laughing.

It's been a tradition in their family. Every time a member of the Hale family got their soulmark, the whole family threw a party for them to celebrate and join their efforts and put it into finding the lost soulmate. That's what they did for Laura two years ago, and that's what they were going to do for him now.

Hope sparked inside him. Derek thought that if anyone could find Stilinski, it was his family. They had sources like no one else in the town had.

Uncle Peter and aunt Julia both took a seat on either of his sides on the couch as soon as Talia Hale cleared the plates, both holding a laptop. They flexed their fingers in unison, grinned at each other, then turned their piercing gazes to Derek.

"So." Aunt Julia said, her eyes flicking to her brother for a second before returning to Derek. "Show us the name."

Very reluctantly, Derek stretched his hand forwards and twisted his arm so that the softer skin of his wrist - still sensitive and pink-ish from the scarring - faced up and showed everyone the terrible name of his supposed soulmate. Peter frowned, clicking his tongue in thought.

"It would be either very hard or very easy to find him." He hummed quietly, as if to himself. Derek tensed and jerked up, quickly turning two wide and shocked eyes to his uncle.

"HIM?" Derek asked, mouth hanging open.

"Well, yes." Peter answered, looking at his nephew in surprise, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. He blinked once, then leaned forwards a bit and traced his forefinger along the first name that scarred Derek's wrist. "You see this? Only Slavic male names end with that specific order of letters. It's very clear that this is a guy's name. Polish, I assume. Or Czech."

"A guy."

"Yes, Derek." Peter closed his eyes for a second and sighed, long and tired. "A guy. You're gay. Get over it."

Derek blushed to the roots of his hair.

"Well, stop mocking my son and get on with it, Peter." Talia called from the kitchen. Peter rolled his eyes.

"Okay." He said, typing a few things on his laptop. "Jules, you start feeding all the versions you can into S.P.A.I.N." He ordered as his sister nodded and started typing frantically on her own keyboard. "Talia, you and Dan go through the phone-book. Laura can use my phone to call Tadeusz in Poland and ask him if he knows anyone by this name. I'll go through all the other search engines online."

"Go team, go!" Laura called happily, snatching Peter's phone from the table and leaping to the rocking chair in which James sat quietly, landing on his lap.

"Hey. What about us?" Cora asked from her place behind the couch, giving her older brother an annoyed look. "You didn't give Derek and me any tasks."

Peter sighed again, blocking out the sudden sound of multiple ringing phones that filled the living room.

"That's because Derek is still busy moping over the fact that apparently, he's gay." Peter answered slowly with very little patient left. "And you, young lady, don't know any Russian yet, so that'd be useless. Right?"

Cora huffed.

"Right." She grumbled under her breath, stomping away in disappointment.

Derek sat there in silence as everyone worked, staring into nothing with his pale green eyes wide with shock. His soulmate was a guy... his soulmate was a guy? Seriously? Derek always assumed he was straight. Because, well, everyone in his family were. He even had a crush on Jenny Blake when he was fourteen, for Christ sake!

But, if he was completely honest with himself... he did think Duke Ragen from his Latin class had a smokin' body.

The only other gay guy he knew was Matt from next door. He was five years older than Derek and already lived there with his mate and his mother. They barely talked to each other, only nodding in acknowledgement whenever they saw each other in the neighborhood. He was a quiet and private guy, somewhat shy, much like Derek himself.

Maybe he should catch a moment with him sometime.

So, okay. If what uncle Peter said was correct, Derek's mate was indeed a guy. Derek turned the thought in his head, the faceless image of the person from his dreams popping into his mind as he bit his lip in thoughts. Maybe it was true... it definitely felt true. The second Peter suggested Derek's soulmate was a male, it felt like a sealed deal. Derek couldn't picture himself with a woman anymore in any way, the faceless, blurry shape morphing into a masculine figure with broad shoulders and tall, lanky frame.

And honestly? It felt right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at [tumblr](http://tamyourue.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Reviews are food for a writer's soul.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not every story has a happy ending. Stiles and Derek's certainly didn't. Can a person live without the other half of their soul?
> 
> Or
> 
> In a universe where your soulmate's name appears on your left wrist on your 18th birthday, not everyone gets their happily-ever-after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the comments, kudos and bookmarks :) I really appreciate that.
> 
> Chapters will be updated weekly.

Chapter 2

* * *

It's been three years.

Three long, exhausting, hopeless years.

Three years of constant search, and still no clue of a sign of Stilinski anywhere.

And Derek was starting to lose hope.

His family helped him for a whole week after his eighteen birthday, calling every Slavic friend they had and digging into sources they almost never use. And nothing. Zip. Nada. Not even a whisper.

Three months ago, though, after a long, fruitless search, they finally had the chance to find a mate-less guy in Poland with a similar name and an acceptable age. However, after flying all the way there with his parents and sisters, Derek found out the man used to spell his name in a slightly different way than the mark on his wrist was.

They flew back to Beacon Hills, disappointed and depressed. Talia tried to encourage her son, getting her sister to talk to him and tell him how she found her soulmate after such a long search and how it was totally worth it. But even aunt Julia's hopeful stories and uncle Peter's dark, cruel jokes couldn't cheer Derek up, and he drowned himself in his studies, dividing his time between lectures and S.P.A.I.N only.

They were no closer to find Stilinski than they were three years ago, when Derek first saw the insanely long name forming on his skin.

It felt terrible.

It was just like aunt Julia used to say. The emptiness inside him was unbearable. He ached for a man he'd never met, he longed to kiss lips he'd never tasted. He wanted to touch him, wanted to look at him and tell him how much he meant to him... but he'd never even seen him. Derek didn't know anything about him, but the feeling of loss was there all the same.

So when the phone rang one morning, three months after the incident in Poland, Derek didn't even look up. He kept his nose buried in his books and notes, reading about brain functions and behaviors. He heard his younger sister yelling something, and then his mother picked up, cutting the shrill ringing sound off.

It took two and a half minutes for the scream to reach his ears, and he jumped in his chair, eyes widening in alert as he threw his pen aside and scrambled to his feet, running down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Mom!" He threw the kitchen's door open, voice tight with worry and body tense and prepared to fight. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Talia Hale just stood there by the stove, a phone in her hand and tears in her eyes. She was smiling - no, scratch that -  _beaming_  at him, making an urgent motion with her hand to usher him to come closer. She mumbled something into the receiver, then covered it with her palm and looked up into her son's eyes.

"Honey," She said, her voice choked with emotion. Derek tensed, frowning. He'd never seen his mother this happy, this open. She was always the perfect image of silent balance, rarely letting her emotions go.

"Mom...?" He asked hesitantly.

Talia's smile grew.

"We found him."

* * *

Derek was shocked. He didn't know what to say or do. To think the Stilinskis were here in Beacon Hills the whole time was too overwhelming for him. For three years -  _three years_  - he's been searching for him. And finally, finally finding him here of all places - it couldn't be a coincidence. This time it must be him.

His name was Stiles, his mother said. Of course, they all knew what his real name was, but Talia told him he preferred to be called Stiles, as this was a much less embarrassing nickname than his birth name was.

So there they were, on their way to the Stilinskis house. The drive wasn't really that long, but to Derek every minute felt like an hour, stretching and spreading so agonizingly slow. He couldn't sit still.

He knew Stiles' father was the town's Sheriff, which made him want to slap himself repeatedly on the head. He should have guessed that, right? Because, come on, the name 'Stilinski' was engraved into his skin for three years now, he should have connected the dots by now by himself. But of course not. Of course it was Stiles who contacted him, exactly three days after getting his soulmark. It was humiliating.

The drive was silent. Laura and Cora both sat on either side of him, quiet and buzzing with barely contained energy. They kept giving each other meaningful looks over his head, communicating silently in excitement. His parents, too, didn't say a word. They both didn't dare getting their hopes too high, just in case it was another unfortunate mistake.

But Derek was sure. He was sure the moment he first heard that nickname - that terribly stupid nickname. He felt the way it rolled on his tongue as he repeated after his mother when she first said it. Felt how true it was, how warm and how right... it felt like home.

Derek snapped out of his thoughts the second he noticed they started to slow down. His father pulled the car into a stop along the sidewalk, killing the engine. It was so quiet now, without the steady dull roar of the car, and Derek could almost hear his heart beating like mad in his chest, as if trying to break free and run away. They were finally here.

His family started pouring out of the car, with him following last. He slammed the door shut behind him, then stopped and looked up dreadfully. His heart was racing, his throat dry. Breathing was suddenly a bit harder than it normally was as he stared up at the normal-looking house. It looked so ordinary, so casual... but Derek knew that inside, was the most important person in the whole world. Waiting for him.

As if his thoughts were loud enough for the whole street to hear, the front door suddenly opened with a loud 'thud' and out was running the strangest young man Derek have ever seen.

He was tall and lanky - just like the faceless shape in his dreams, blank face suddenly taking features and colors - with broad and muscular shoulders, an inch narrower than Derek's. Derek released a breath he didn't know he was holding, barely noting that his family took a step back to give them some privacy.

Stiles stopped in such a suddenness he almost bumped head first into Derek's chest. He stood there, less than a single step between them, and stared at him, wide eyed and shocked as if he didn't really believe Derek was standing there. Derek returned a similar expression, his lips parted in shock and awe and such a desperate longing he actually felt his hands shaking.

Derek had no idea how long they were standing there in complete silence, drinking in each other's features with desperate thirst. Derek couldn't look away. From his whisky brown eyes to his messy brown hair and countless tiny moles that dotted his pale skin, Stiles Stilinski was beautiful.

And judging by the way he was staring at Derek, lips parted and chest heaving with sharp and fast breaths, he was thinking the same thing.

"H-Hi." He breathed out, and his voice was hoarse and sweet and made Derek's heart do a tiny dance.

"Hi." Derek choked back.

Stiles smiled.

"Do you want to come in?" He asked. Derek felt his face breaking into a huge smile he was pretty sure would stay there for the rest of his life.

"Hell yeah."

* * *

It was the most... electric dinner of Derek's entire life.

Sheriff Stilinski was sitting right there across the table with that weird expression on his face, like a hawk watching his son's every move as if Stiles was a fragile china doll that could break into pieces if Derek only so much as touched him. He also invited Stiles' best friend to eat with them, a tan and dark haired kid with an uneven jaw and warm brown eyes, perhaps to keep another eye on the two. Derek was pretty sure his name was Scott.

Stiles' mother was nowhere to be seen, he noticed, and whenever the subject came anywhere near that, Derek could feel a faint pinge of fear that was not his invading his heart. Realizing it was Stiles', Derek figured it was a sensitive matter, and every time the subject came up he just kicked Laura under the table to help change the direction of the conversation. It worked quite well so far.

Derek and Stiles themselves took no part in the actual conversation, and only kept staring at each other from across the table, playing with the food on their plates without actually eating any of it. Derek didn't think he could, anyway. He felt some kind of a pleasant nausea turning his stomach, like the one you get after a really big laugh or when you speed up on a rollercoaster. It was a good nausea, and Derek could practically feel how his heart was swelling in his chest every time Stiles gave him a shy smile from across the table.

His parents were polite enough and even made the extremely serious Sheriff laugh once of twice, while Laura and Cora more or less cornered Scott and asked him all sorts of questions about his best friend. Derek listened to their interrogation with only half of his attention, torn between his desire to learn everything he could about Stiles, and staring dumbly at his face for as long as he could get away with it without coming off as creepy or an idiot.

It wasn't long before desert was about to be served and everyone hurried to offer the Sheriff help with clearing the table, making a lot of noise and apologies. In the commotion, Derek noticed the way Stiles was looking at him, surrounded by at least three Hale members. He jerked his head once, the look in his eyes telling Derek everything he needed to know. Quickly glancing at the Sheriff - who was busy reassuring Talia he had enough help already and that there was no need for her to get up - he made sure no one looked at his direction, then nodded at Stiles and hurried towards him, letting the younger lead the way.

He followed Stiles quickly as the other climbed up the stairs in an impressive silence, hurrying towards a large gray-ish bedroom Derek could only guess was Stiles'. The boy closed the door quietly behind him - not before listening in for a few seconds to make sure they really did leave unnoticed - then straightened up and turned around, leaning against the closed door with a sheepish smile and a nervous glance.

Standing in the middle of the room, Derek suddenly felt very self-conscious. He shifted from leg to leg, chewing the inside of his cheek as he wrecked his brain in thoughts of what he should do with his stupid, stupid hands, that currently were just dangling uselessly on his sides. He must look like an idiot, Derek thought bitterly. Comforted that as least Stiles looked just as fidgety.

"So." The sudden loudness of Stiles' voice in the quiet room made Derek jump out of his skin, and he would never admit that, but a small gasp also left his lips when he did.

Stiles snorted.

"Whoa, calm down." He said, his smile no longer so shy and nervous.  _Well,_  Derek thought in relief.  _At least my stupidity was a good ice-breaker._

"Sorry." Derek said, his heart pounding.

"So..." Stiles said again, pulling at the word hesitantly. His right hand restlessly moving to wrap around his left wrist, where Derek could see his own name written in his own lean and elegant handwriting. It felt so... bizzare.

"So?" He repeated after him, not knowing what to do.

Stiles looked down, his embarrassment and awkwardness coming back. He was shifting nervously, his hand shooting up to scratch the back of his head as he looked back up, glancing anywhere but directly at Derek.

"I don't know," He finally admitted, his beautiful brown eyes wandering up until they fell on Derek's, and they both drew sharp, matching breaths. "I-I just thought- I wanted to be alone, for a bit. With- with you, I mean." He stammered, his eyes wide.

"It's, um, okay." Derek mumbled back, watching in fascination as Stiles moved away from the door, slowly walking towards him.

He was standing very close now, closer than before when Stiles ran towards him outside. Derek could feel the warmth of his skin radiating, could feel his breath so close he could almost taste it. And God, how he wanted to. Those pale, perfectly shaped lips were agonizingly close, and Derek could barely control himself.

Then, before he could process what was going on, Stiles' left hand reached out and firmly grabbed Derek's wrist, long and pale fingers closing around on his skin.

The moment their skin touched for the very first time, Derek could feel the way warmth suddenly burst from the spot Stiles was still touching, exploding from the tips of his fingers and rushing through his veins, bubbling through his whole body. He felt as if his heart was swelling, filling his chest with something he'd never felt before.

He felt...

Complete.

It seemed like Stiles was going through the exact same thing, judging by the soft, startled gasp he let out. His lips were parted, whisky brown eyes wide and staring straight into Derek's green ones. Butterflies fluttered inside his stomach, making his heart race and his throat close on nothing.

"Stiles-" He choked out, but he didn't get to finish. There were suddenly soft lips attacking his own, closing and pulling him forwards as his brain still tried to figure out what was going on.

Stiles was kissing him -  _kissing him_  - in such a way that left them both breathless and flushed, knees weak. Stiles' hand was still gripping Derek's wrist - right over that ridiculously long name - while his other hand rested on the small of Derek's back, holding him firmly close. Somehow during the kiss - Derek had no idea how or when - his own arms wrapped themselves around Stiles' waist, and now he was rubbing his hands across his back, his rough fingers sneaking under the boy's shirt, trailing over soft and tight skin.

Stiles shuddered.

"Derek-" He gasped.

But this time, it was Derek's turn to shut him up with a kiss. They'd have plenty of time to talk later - forever, actually. But right now? This feeling right here, with Stiles in his arms, was the best thing Derek could ever imagine.

And it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at [tumblr](http://tamyourue.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Reviews are food for a writer's soul.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not every story has a happy ending. Stiles and Derek's certainly didn't. Can a person live without the other half of their soul?
> 
> Or
> 
> In a universe where your soulmate's name appears on your left wrist on your 18th birthday, not everyone gets their happily-ever-after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand, here we go. Happy feeling's over? Sorry. Told you this was not a happy fic. Thank you guys for the kind comments tho!

Chapter 3:

* * *

They had two wonderful months of bliss.

Stiles was amazing, better than Derek ever dared to wish for. He was clumsy and restless and full of energy, witty and sarcastic, funny to the point of tears and extremely smart, challenging Derek on a daily basis. He was kind and affectionate and impulsive, willing to give his life for his loved ones, and Derek found himself falling madly in love with the boy who shared his soul.

They spent every waking moment with each other, and even some of the nights, sleeping in each other's arms with every possible inch of their skin touching and vibrating with the connection they shared, sometimes at the Hale house, sometimes at the Stilinskis'. Stiles, with his sweet nature and charming sense of humor, was always welcomed at the Hales', with Derek's family throwing themselves all over him and spoiling him rotten.

The Sheriff, on the other hand, did not like Derek at all.

Every time Derek stayed the night in Stiles' house, the Sheriff would give him such a look that made Derek flinch and retreat back into Stiles' room, to avoid the glare he really didn't think he deserved.

Because, seriously. What had he ever done to have the Sheriff dislike him that much? They barely even spoke when Derek came with his family to meet Stiles for the first time, two months ago, but ever since then he ignored Derek's existence, apart from the occasional glare.

And if that wasn't enough, apparently he also started treating Stiles like a china doll.

Stiles would sometimes complain to Derek when they were alone, going into long angry speeches about the fact his father never allow him to do anything anymore. Derek listened every time Stiles began one of his rants, but whenever he tried to ask Stiles what he thought was the reason for that behavior, the other would just avoid answering and change the subject, irritated and distant.

And yes, Derek wasn't stupid. He knew something was up. He knew there was something important that Stiles and his father knew and wouldn't tell him. He could feel it, every day when he saw Stiles. Something was not right... but he didn't want to press on his newfound soulmate, so he just dropped it for now.

It happened one morning, though, when Derek dropped by the Stilinskis to pick Stiles up and drive him to school.

Parking his black Camaro near the sidewalk, Derek turned off the engine and checked himself once again in the side mirror, making sure his hair wasn't sticking in odd direction before he slid out of the car and walked up the short path leading to the front porch of Stiles' house. He was just about to knock when he heard muffled angry yelling from inside. Derek froze.

"I don't care what you fucking say, I am NOT going!" It was Stiles' voice, sounding so different than Derek ever heard it before. It was filled with anger, not a hint of his usual kindness in it.

"I am not asking you, Stiles!" The Sheriff's voice boomed, making Derek flinch and start to retreat back from the porch. It was clearly not a good time. "I'm ordering you! It can't go on like this! You can't keep pretending!"

A crash was heard from inside, something smashing on the floor along with a loud, frustrated cry. Another shout of, "Stiles!" Was heard before Derek realized there were quick footsteps coming in his direction and then the door suddenly swung open, revealing a very pissed off Stiles standing in the doorway.

He paused when he saw Derek standing there awkwardly, ignoring the way the older man shifted uncomfortably.

"Let's go." He gritted out shortly, before slamming the door behind him, making the walls shake.

They didn't speak to each other all the way to school, with Stiles too angry to talk and with Derek basically speechless and very, very confused. He knew Stiles knew he heard them, but he didn't know how to approach the subject and ask for answers. And he definitely didn't want, too, to be on the receiving end of Stiles' bad side.

He dropped him off at the parking lot of Beacon Hills' high school. Stiles barely thanked him, then snatched his bag, climbed out and stormed towards the double metal doors. Derek noticed with a stab of worry that Stiles was almost limping, his walk somewhat shaky.

Derek watched him go, chewing at his bottom lip in worry. He was scared, and he could feel a hint of anger that wasn't his and a pang of guilt stabbing at his heart and turning his stomach... and he knew it was Stiles.

He closed his eyes then, and took a deep breath, thinking of two nights before where he and Stiles fell asleep in each other's arms. He memorized that comforting feeling of warmth and security, and then gently, experimentally pushed it towards the spot in his heart that was the source of that hostile feeling of foreign anger.

It took a few long and tense moments, but eventually Derek felt how the tight feeling began to loosen up and the anger lessened considerably. Stiles was slowly calming down, he could feel it.

Derek smiled sadly, sighing and running a hand through his hair in worry. Then he stepped on the gas and drove off.

* * *

They hadn't spoken to each other for whole two day.

Derek could swear these were the most painful two days of his entire life. Being away from Stiles and not even hearing his voice was physically agonizing. He ached to go there and see him, but decided against it, giving Stiles some time to cool down and come to him whenever he was ready. In some level, Derek knew it wasn't just a normal fight between father and son. There was more to it - much more, and the need to damn it all and just  _ask_  him was so strong... Derek wasn't sure he could hold back for much longer.

On the third afternoon of complete and total nothing from Stiles, it finally happened.

The door was ringing repeatedly downstairs, but Derek ignored it and kept focusing on his books and notes, waiting for someone else to answer it. He heard Laura and Cora childishly racing each other down the hall, with James calmly and very very British-ly calling after them to slow down before they break something.

He heard muffled talking, and then Laura called out at the top of her lungs, making him jump out of his skin.

"DEREK!"

Derek almost fell out of his chair in his hurry to get downstairs. He knew exactly who this was - there was only one person he expected to come for him, only one person that mattered. He jumped the stairs down two at a time, grabbing onto the rail to keep his balance.

Rushing to the front door he finally stopped, panting, his heart trembling in excitement and expectation.

Stiles was there, staring at his feet while twisting his hands nervously, chewing at his bottom lip and not daring to look up. He looked troubled and stressed, and Laura gave Derek a sharp, warning look, then withdrew from the door and dragged Cora behind her, elbowing her brother as they left. Once they were left alone, Derek broke the silence, his voice quiet and hesitant.

"Hi." Was all he could get out, anxiously waiting for Stiles to speak.

The other was clearly upset, his eyes darting everywhere but to Derek, hands practically shaking. Derek felt as if someone had stabbed his heart - watching his soulmate acting that upset hurt him too.

"Stiles?"

The boy looked hesitantly up, whisky brown eyes swimming with unshed tears. Derek thought a punch to his guts would be less painful than that.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes, yeah. Sure." Derek stammered, moving away from the door to allow him inside, overwhelmed with raw emotion. Once the front door closed behind them, Derek reached forward and grabbed Stiles' left wrist, fingers closing right over his own name there. He pulled him close, savoring the contact he so desperately longed for the past two days, and then began to lead him upstairs and into his room. He locked the door and turned around, facing Stiles with worry written all over his face.

"Stiles," Derek said quietly, his thumb still stroking the delicate skin of Stiles' wrist. "What's going on?"

In an instant, as if Derek's raw concern stirred something deep inside him, Stiles' face scrunched up as he tried to stop himself from crying. Although still, two or three tears managed to escape anyway, rolling down his cheeks and disappearing at his collar. Derek's grip tightened, suddenly very, very scared. He didn't like this situation one bit.

"I'm sorry," Stiles choked out hoarsly, his free hand wiping at his face in frustration to get rid of the embarrassing tears. "I'm so, so sorry, Derek. For the way I treated you, you didn't deserve that, I'm sorry." He said again as one more tear made it's way down his cheek, and Derek couldn't stop himself from reaching out and wiping it away.

"Stop," He said quietly, feeling as if he himself was about to start crying, too. It broke his heart. "Stop apologizing, it's- it's fine. I'm not mad. It's fine."

But Stiles just shook his head, rubbing his face on his sleeve once again... and Derek knew it was not all he came here to talk about.

"The reason... the reason my dad and I fought," He started, his expression suddenly steeling into a blank and emotionless mask, only broken by his red, puffy eyes and the tear tracks on his face. "He wanted me to check into the hospital-"

"Wait, what?" Derek cut in, green eyes widening with freezing fear. "Hospital?"

No.

No, no, no...

Stiles nodded, then swallowed hard, his eyes giving away the swirling emotions he tried to block and keep at bay. "Yes. Don't interrupt me, okay?" He pleaded. "It's hard enough as it is." His voice trembled. Derek nodded silently, even though it only raised a thousand more questions instead. "I... a few months ago, before we met, I started having strange dreams that stretched even to my waking hours." Stiles resumed his explanation, shaky and anxious. "My anxiety and panic attacks came back and dad noted a few more changes in my behavior, things I dismissed or tried to hide from him... he had a lot to worry about already."

He paused, taking in a deep, shaking breath.

"A-anyway... after a few weeks of that we realized it couldn't just be my ADHD, and he decided to take me for a check up at the hospital, and- and they found out I have, um, Dementia." His voice trembled at the word, eyes distant as if a terrible memory was fighting it's way to his consciousness. Derek inhaled sharply. "Frontotemporal Dementia, to be exact," Stiles added, his voice raspy, dying down with each word he said. "That's what my mother had." He said with a quiet, weak whisper.

Derek let out a slow, shaking breath. Claudia Stilinski died a few years ago, when Stiles was just a kid... that much he knew. Stiles told Derek that on their third date, touching the subject for just enough time to explain Derek the absence of a mother at the house, then changing the subject as usual. This was the first time Derek had heard any details about her death.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Derek practically whispered, his heart racing in panic and terror, fear choking his throat. He felt cold seeping through his ribs. Stiles shook his head slowly.

"Dad wanted me to," He mumbled. "He said it wasn't fair to leave you in the dark. But I- I couldn't. I mean... I just found you, I didn't want to ruin what we have, you know?" He looked up, brown eyes meeting green, pleading him to understand. His chin trembled again, tears resurfacing. "I wanted us to be happy, just for a little while."

Derek couldn't say anything. The words stuck in his throat, pushing the tears up until a muffled whimper bubbled past his shut lips. Doing the only thing he could think of, Derek closed the short distance between them and sharply pulled Stiles into his arms, pressing them both so close it was starting to hurt. But even then, it still hurt less than the pain in his chest, where all the happiness he felt the past two months turned into a dark void of fear and grief and pain.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispered brokenly in his ear as his arms wrapped around his soulmate's back, his voice muffled by Derek's

shoulder. His only answer was tightening their embrace, almost as if he thought that if he held Stiles close enough it would protect him from any harm. He didn't even know what Stiles was apologizing for, but still his voice repeated the words quietly, chokingly.

"I'm sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at [tumblr](http://tamyourue.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Reviews are food for a writer's soul.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not every story has a happy ending. Stiles and Derek's certainly didn't. Can a person live without the other half of their soul?
> 
> Or
> 
> In a universe where your soulmate's name appears on your left wrist on your 18th birthday, not everyone gets their happily-ever-after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to say beside thanks for all the kind messages, favorites and follows :) Oh and beware of Stilinski Family Feels. Sorry.
> 
> Chapters will be updated weekly.

Chapter 4

* * *

The next day, Stiles was admitted into the hospital.

Derek was at the Stilinskis' house at early morning, after not being able to fall asleep the previous night at all. His eyes were red-rimmed and he had dark bags under them, the usually bright green of his eyes now dull and pained. It was obvious that he spent the whole night crying after Stiles left to go home and pack, and the thought made Stiles' heart ache and fill with terrible guilt for what the whole situation did to his soulmate.

"Good morning," Derek said with an attempt of a smile as Stiles shakily opened the front door, but his voice was hoarse and scratchy and it wasn't that much convincing. From across the hall, Derek could see the Sheriff pass through, and the brief look he gave Derek was pitiful and sympathetic - not much of an improvement from the cold glares he used to get from him before. He knew exactly what Derek was going through, though. Probably the only one who did.

"Morning." Stiles answered quietly, only having a moment to process it before he was being pulled into a tight hug, Derek's arms circling him and holding him close for a few long seconds, fingers buried in his hair. Derek released him quickly, covering his sniffling with awkward cough, clearing his throat.

"So, you ready to go?" Derek asked, shifting uncomfortably. Stiles nodded.

"All packed and ready for my funeral." Stiles tried to joke, patting at the open door loudly. Derek flinched. He looked wounded, like someone just punched him in the stomach.

"Not funny," He whispered. Stiles winced, hand sliding down.

"Sorry."

"Okay kiddo," The Sheriff interrupted as he appeared from behind his son, giving Derek another sad glance. Stiles looked a little confused. "We gotta go now. Derek, you want to ride with us or drive yours?"

"I think I'll come with you, sir, if you don't mind."

"I don't." Stilinski smiled tightly. "Let's go then." He said, and then stiffly walked past them towards the car, Stiles' hospital bag hanging from his shoulder.

The drive was quiet and loaded, the air in the car thick with the unspoken truth they all knew - it was a one-way ticket, and there was no going back.

Derek already received all the information he needed last night, while having Stiles sitting so close to him that their sides were pressed flushed against each other, holding him tight. Stiles had told him the doctors said he already had it for at least two or three years before his official diagnosis, even though Stiles and his father never realized it. He also knew that at this point, Stiles' Dementia had progressed so far along they had no other choice but to hospitalize him, if they wanted to keep him alive for as long as possible. Derek didn't want to think about that. He already had his share of crying last night, and he didn't want to cry now, too.

Last night, Derek also discovered that Stiles had worked really hard these past two months to hide his symptoms from him, never letting him know how bad it really was. He hid his anger and the shakiness of his limbs, chased the daytime nightmares away as much as he could, and forced himself to rethink every decision he made in front of Derek a thousand times. Knowing how bad Stiles had it, and knowing he couldn't do anything to help him, hurt Derek more than he thought was possible.

Stiles' father disapproved, of course. He thought Stiles was being unfair to Derek for not telling him, for making his soulmate think everything was wonderful and perfect and then just, BAM, disappear from his life. He thought it was too cruel, and even though Stiles didn't want to admit that, he knew his dad was right.

Apparently, that was the real reason behind the cold shoulder the Sheriff gave Derek from day one. He knew his son was dying, and he didn't want the two to form such a close relationship just to have it cruelly snatched away from them... but no matter what he thought was right, Sheriff Stilinski couldn't deny his son the only thing that made him happy. That made him forget the fact he was dying, even for just a little while.

So he sucked it up and said nothing.

And now, on their way to the hospital, the three of them knew very well that Stiles was not going to come back out. He was not going to get better, and he was indeed going to die there, sooner or later.

Thinking about it, this was the thing that hurt the Sheriff the most, knowing that the horrible, constant pain he himself was feeling was actually nothing compared to the hollowness Stiles was going to leave in Derek. They were soulmates, they were part of each other. And Sheriff Stilinski knew first hand what it was like to lose that part of your very soul.

He never wished that on anyone.

* * *

At the hospital, Melissa McCall was waiting with Scott by her side, a sad, comforting smile on her kind face. She was the one to check Stiles in, and the one to take his blood and vital signs. She handed him a thin hospital gown and a pair of white slippers, instructing him to sit there and wait when he was ready until she came back.

After she left with Scott behind, following her out, Derek and Sheriff Stilinski both emerged from the background, where they were waiting silently in the corner while nurse McCall did her job. They stood close to Stiles as he picked at his gown, making jokes about the way his ass was showing in an attempt to cheer the other two up. Needless to say, it didn't really work that well.

"Oh, come on, guys. Cheer up." He said, smile wavering on his lips as his shoulders sank in disappointment. Derek swallowed.

"How can we?" He mumbled at his shoes. The Sheriff shoved his hands in his pockets and quickly looked away, but Stiles still caught a glimpse of tears glistening in his eyes. His smile finally vanished completely.

"Well, you have to." Stiles said, his voice catching in his throat near the end of the sentence. "Because that's the only thing that keeps me from losing my mind. And if you guys break down, I don't think I could take it."

"Stiles-" Derek said, the lump in his throat getting more painful to swallow around by the second.

"So please, just stop looking at me like it's the end, because I," Stiles continued stubbornly, his voice breaking as he choked on the word, his chin quivering, brown eyes welling up, stinging with hot, burning tears. His shoulders were shaking with the effort not to cry. "Because I can't."

A choked sob came from the Sheriff's direction, who was still looking away, one hand covering his mouth as he tried to block the pitiful sounds.

That was the last straw that broke Stiles, and a hoarse whimper tore at his throat, immediately followed by a hot stream of tears that rolled down the boy's cheeks. The breath stuck in Derek's chest, and he closed the distance in a second, his arms wrapping firmly around Stiles' shoulders and back and it was all he could do to try and force himself to keep his own tears at bay. Stiles' fists shot up and gripped at the back of his shirt, his whole body trembling and shaking with the effort.

Derek was angry. So angry he wanted to hit something. To break something. To inflict harm on something or someone just so he could feel a little bit better. And he hated himself for that. It was just so unfair.

Sucking in a forced deep breath, his hand climbed up and buried itself in Stiles' short and soft hair, pressing his head to his own shoulder so close, as if he tried to merge their bodies together into one. His other hand was rubbing small circles on Stiles' back, trying to sooth the shake of his shoulders as the violent sobs that wrecked his body. From behind him, Derek could still hear the Sheriff trying desperately to choke down his own sobs, the noise muffled and quiet.

Derek had no clue how long it took for both father and son to stop crying, and frankly he was grateful when Stiles finally broke apart from him, furiously wiping at his red and puffy eyes. Finally. Derek didn't think he could hold on for much longer.

"Sorry..." Stiles whispered and sniffled, voice barely audible and hoarse from crying. Derek shook his head, his left hand still lingering over Stiles' right shoulder even though they moved a bit away from each other, thumb gently stroking at his pale neck.

Behind Derek's back, the Sheriff was now hiding a sniffle and clearing his throat twice, then took a deep breath to steel himself, approaching his son.

"It's going to be okay." He said quietly, his hand patting the back of Stiles' neck in an attempted comfort. He tried to smile. The result was lame and shaky, but it was still a smile nonetheless. "We'll get through this. With heads held high and butts in the air."

Stiles let out a wet laugh, wiping at his eyes. He swayed his hips a little as an answer, bumping his bare ass against Derek's hip. It was at this moment that Melissa McCall chose to come back in. She stood at the doorway, clearing her throat while pushing in an empty wheelchair.

"Come here sweetheart," She told Stiles warmly, nodding towards the chair. "Your room is ready."

Stiles made a face.

"Do I have to sit in a wheelchair?" He complained. "I can still walk, you know."

"Do you want everyone to see your white scrawny butt wiggling around in the halls?" Melissa asked dryly. Stiles said nothing, and just grumpily lowered himself onto the chair, allowing Mrs. McCall to roll him away. She seemed pleased.

"That's what I thought."

* * *

After a week at the hospital, the Stilinskis and Derek fell into a semi-comfortable routine.

Every morning Stiles was woken up at 6 AM sharp and had his vital signs taken by one of the nurses. He had breakfast he hated and a shower he hated even more (there was never hot water in his room. Seriously, what was up with  _that_?). And every morning at 8 AM when visiting hours began, Derek and the Sheriff were already waiting outside, patiently waiting to get in.

They sat with him all day. Well, it was mostly Derek who sat with him all day. The Sheriff still had to work, though he stopped by at every available moment he had. Scott dropped by every day after school, sometimes accompanied by the gang, sometimes by himself. Laura and the other Hales came to visit a few times, joking and laughing and trying to cheer the two boys up even though everyone knew it was hopeless.

So that left Derek Hale all by himself to take care of Stiles, most of the time. Not that he was complaining. He'd have done it anyway. It was where he belonged.

He soon found out that there were good days and bad days. In the good days, Stiles was being the Stiles Derek knew. A snarky little shit with a cocky grin and sarcastic jokes and witty comebacks. His endless chatter filled the room non-stop, giving Derek a headache and causing him to growl a low, "Shut up." at him every now and then. He was lively and cheerful despite the gloomy place he was currently calling home and despite the worsening condition of his motor skills, and he managed to make even grumpy, sour and sad Derek smile and laugh from time to time.

The bad days, though, were the days that made Derek question his ability to keep himself together.

Before Stiles was admitted to the hospital, Derek spent only a few hours a day with him, since they both had more to their lives than just each other. But now, staying by Stiles' bedside the whole day long, Derek realized how much of his disease Stiles really hid from him.

Panic attacks, confusion, anxiety, rage fits and hallucinations - all of them hit Stiles full force a couple of times a day. Derek helped him as much as he could. He instructed him how to breathe through his panic attacks, soothed away his anxiety and took his leashing anger fits with steel silence. He chased the nightmares away and helped him figure out what was real and what was just his imagination playing tricks. And every time Stiles had gotten that glassy, terrified look in his eyes, Derek had reached out and gripped his hand tight, counting down from ten with him until Stiles managed to shake the living nightmare off and focus back on him.

The apathy, though, was the worst.

That was the one thing that Derek was pretty sure would break him one day. It was a torture. He couldn't stand the empty, hollow look in Stiles' eyes whenever he had one of those days. The silence that filled the room was deafening, and Derek wished Stiles would just  _look_  at him and  _say something_. He was unresponsive, uncaring, quiet and pale, and it scared Derek to death. It was as if he was already dead.

And on those days, Derek was on his own.

The Sheriff couldn't bring himself to visit when Stiles was like that. He knew it was selfish and cruel to do that to Derek, but he just couldn't. Derek tried to understand, though. He knew how hard it must have been for Sheriff Stilinski to watch his only son go through the exact same disease that killed his own wife. His soulmate. But it was hard.

He tried.

And as days gone by, Derek cherished every day he had with Stiles by his side. The good days, and the bad.

Because he knew. Soon enough, there will be no more days at all.

And that was what Derek feared the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at [tumblr](http://tamyourue.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Reviews are food for a writer's soul.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not every story has a happy ending. Stiles and Derek's certainly didn't. Can a person live without the other half of their soul?
> 
> Or
> 
> In a universe where your soulmate's name appears on your left wrist on your 18th birthday, not everyone gets their happily-ever-after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. The last chapter. Thank you all for all the kind messages and follows, it means a lot to me :)
> 
> I hope I'll see you soon, in my next story. Until then, take care!

Chapter 5 and last:

* * *

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Months turned into years and Derek Hale turned into a shell of himself.

As time passed by, Stiles' condition became worse. His rage fits and hallucinations grew much more frequent, and his speech was confused and stammered at best. He was so tired. All the time.

People gradually stopped visiting the worse he'd gotten, apologizing to Derek and the Sheriff when they finally left and avoiding them later. They never explained why, but Derek knew the reason, bright and clear. Stiles was... not himself, most of the time. He'd act rudely and throw inappropriate remarks, or stare blankly at some spot in the air for hours. He'd fall into unexpected screaming fits and break everything within his reach, and he'd make extremely bold comments on Derek's body, in front of everyone. It was hard to handle with for most of them, and Derek understood that.

Sometimes, Stiles'd stumble out of his bed and demand Derek would fuck him right then and there, in front of whoever was present, and horribly describe what he'd like Derek to do to him, never understanding what he was actually saying. It was terrible.

While Scott was the only one of Stiles' old friends that kept coming from time to time, Laura Hale couldn't do it anymore. As much as she loved the kid, it was too much for her to handle ans she told Derek the whole family was supporting him and his soulmate, but they really couldn't bear to be in that hospital room anymore. Not with Stiles' behavior making everyone extremely uncomfortable and on edge, all the time. Derek understood that, but it still hurt him to not have his family by his side. Especially with the one person who shared his soul fading slowly away right before his eyes.

Derek, sadly, was already used to all of it. The Sheriff too. They knew it wasn't Stiles' fault, and they did everything they could to coach him and encourage an appropriate behavior, while disapproving the bad ones. It helped Stiles' judgement, and made things just a little bit better.

On his better days, Stiles was being as if nothing had changed. Still, there was the constant anxiety and confusion, but Stiles was already used to those by now and knew how to tolerate them. He had troubles proccessing information, his speech slow and missing in certain spots. He looked so tired all the time, and Derek could barely take looking at him so weak and thin and pale. It was frightening, crippling... because Derek knew that at this point, Stiles was starting to give up. He was aware of his behavior and he hated and despised every bit of it, and he kept begging Derek to forgive him whenever he came out of his daze. And Derek would, every single day.

It was tough, but they were managing it, slowly. Because Derek and Stiles were soulmates, and they belonged together. That's what Derek kept telling himself every morning when he couldn't gather the will to get up, and that's what kept him going through another day of torture and misery.

* * *

"Sweetheart, you can't keep doing that." Talia Hale said one day, sitting at her kitchen table with her only son curled up on the chair beside her. His arms were crossed over one knee and shielded his face as he buried his head in them,his other leg dangling carelessly from the edge of his chair. She placed a warm hand on his forearm, caressing Derek's skin softly.

"I have to." Was the muffled reply.

Today was one of Stiles' good days, and the Sheriff was the one staying with him. Those days were rare lately, and whenever he could afford that, Sheriff Stilinski took a day off work to spend with his son, relieving Derek from his constant worry over Stiles.

Of course, Derek could never find true relief. Not when Stiles was dying slowly in front of his eyes. He could feel it, deep in his bones, as if he himself was wasting away too.

"It's killing you." Talia whispered, her hand stopping it's gentle stroke abruptly. She looked at her son with pity, her heart going out to him, wishing she could do something to lessen his pain. Derek tensed. "I see that, every day."

Derek's head suddenly snapped up, his green eyes flaring with anger. "What do you want me to do, then?" He lashed out, his voice rising slowly and making his mother flinch. "Abandon him? Leave him to die alone? What?"

"Derek..." Talia tried gently, tears glistening in her eyes. "I never meant for you to do that. It's just... I can't see you like that. I can't. It's like you're fading away with him."

"So what?" Derek hissed bitterly.

And it was true. With each passing day Derek Hale looked less and less like himself. He barely ate, his apetite long gone. He barely slept, had to be reminded to take showers or have something to eat. He lost weight at an alarming rate, and he looked so terribly exhausted, all the time. Talia couldn't remember the last time she saw her son laugh or smile, or even show an expression other than deep and sorrowful despair.

"Don't say that." She tried to say firmly, but her voice hitched at the last syllable. Derek looked up at her, the anger and frustration in his eyes fading into something deeply broken.

"He's my soulmate, mom." Derek mumbled, his gaze dropping to the smooth surface of the kitchen table. "He's my everything and I'm his. I can't lose him, I just... I can't."

Talia didn't even realize he was crying, until she saw the small drops of hot and salty tears dripping from his chin.

She let out a soft, "Oh, sweetheart..." and wrapped her arms around him, holding him as he shook and cried and sobbed until there no more tears left and he just fell asleep, exhausted, right there at the kitchen table.

* * *

That evening, Derek was sitting by Stiles' bedside, trying to read some of today's newspaper. 'Trying' was the keyword, since Stiles - who attempted too to read one of the books on his Death Wishlist (his choice of title, despite Derek's disapproving glare) - didn't stop making frustrated angry grunts and hisses at his lap. It took almost seven minutes of that before Derek finally set his paper down, looking up at Stiles with a frown.

"What's going on?" He asked, waiting for Stiles to look at him. Stiles though, was busy glaring at his book as if it offended him personally.

"I c-can't." He said through gritted teeth, his forehead was creasing in frustration and covered in sweat, his chest rising and falling in

quick breaths. Recognizing the familiar first signs of a panic attack, Derek's heart missed a beat in fear, and he jumped out of his chair and quickly moved to sit on the bed next to Stiles, hands automatically moving to rest around his shoulders and rub small circles on his back.

"Shh, calm down." Derek instructed in a calm, confident voice. Much more confident than he actually felt, anyway. "Deep breaths, slowly. In and out." He took one hand off of Stiles' shoulders as the other kept rubbing his back, grabbing his chin gently and lifting his head up and aside until he looked straight into Derek's eyes, panic and fear storming inside wide whisky colored eyes as he fought to take fast, shallow breaths. "That's it, focus on me. Ain't I pretty?"

A stressed, breathless gasp of laughter escaped Stiles' lips, and Derek could see how his breathing began to slow down bit by bit, the panicked fear fading from Stiles' eyes as he calmed down enough to be able to speak again. Speaking was hard enough for him as it is, these days, Derek thought sadly.

When the episode passed, Stiles gulped, breathing deeply as he placed a thin, shaking hand on the cover of the book he had on his lap.

"Want to tell me what's wrong?" Derek whispered gently into Stiles' messy hair, pressing his lips to the side of his head as he wound an arm around his shoulders again. Being this close to Stiles, having skin contact... that was one of the little things that gave Derek a sliver of hope and confort. It was good.

Stiles took another deep breath.

"I..." he tried, then paused. He seemed to be looking for the words, closing his eyes in concentration. "I can't- can't r-read." He finally said, and Derek could feel Stiles' thin and fragile body stiffening against his.

His heart sank.

"It's okay," He mumbled. Even though he knew it really wasn't. Even though he knew this was just another sign of Stiles' worsening condition, just another reminder... Derek just had to lie to him. Or they both would break down.

"It's fine."

* * *

It's been nearly fourteen months since Stiles was admitted to the hospital, and things started to get really bad at this point.

Stiles' weakening body was a perfect habitat for all kinds of sickness. He suffered fevers and colds and the flu more often than not these days, to the point where he couldn't even remember how being even remotely healthy felt like. Sometimes, they even hooked him up to a raspirator until his symptoms disappeared. It was better for everyone this way.

Speaking of memory, Stiles suffered from problems at this area too. It took him more time than necessary to remember names and places and objects he didn't use on a daily basis. His muscles didn't work well anymore and he needed help with the simplest tasks, like changing his clothes, taking showers and feeding.

Derek, of course, was the automatic volunteer for these tasks. He had help from the Sheriff whenever he was around - which was often enough to put his job at serious risk, even though his deputies did everything they could to cover his absence. He and the Sheriff both agreed they'll be the ones to take care of Stiles. They didn't like the idea of having an unfamiliar nurse do all of that for him.

So, as it was, whenever a new illness stopped by to give Stiles hell, they didn't pay it much attention anymore.

It happened on a Saturday morning, when Derek came to spend the day with his soulmate as he did every day for the past year-something.

"Good morning, beautiful." Derek said with a faint smirk as he walked into Stiles' white hospital room, approaching the bed and placing a soft kiss on his forehead before dropping to the chair beside him. Stiles fixed him with a half-hearted glare that said he knew very well how not beautiful he looked these days, then smiled.

Derek smiled in relief. It was one of the good days, he could tell.

"Mornin'." Stiles croaked back, then coughed.

Derek frowned. "You okay?" He asked, the hint of a smirk sliding off his face, making room for his usual worried expression. Stiles nodded.

"Fine." He mumbled slowly, his sentences lacking and broken. "Just... little hurt." He gestured at the general area of his throat and chest. Derek's frown deepened.

"Another cold, huh?" He grunted in sympathy. Stiles nodded shakily.

Great.

Derek hated to see him suffer. Well, worse than usual, anyway. If he could take his place he knew he'd do it in a heartbeat. Stiles - this clumsy, witty, charming boy who wasn't really a boy anymore, but a young man - had captured his heart even before they even met. He was his whole world because, how can one live without a part of his own soul?

Derek reached out and placed a cool hand on Stiles' forehead, his heart trembling in his chest as he watched Stiles' eyes flutter shut and his head tilting into his touch, a soft smile ghosting over his pale lips in relief. Derek couldn't help but smile a little as well. These days, Stiles was the only one who could make it happen, really.

"You're a little warm," Derek said quietly as Stiles opened his eyes again to look tiredly up at him. "Do you want to sit up? I'll get you some water." He offered, helping Stiles push himself up into a sitting position. He poured water into a glass that sat on Stiles' bedside table, then held it gently to his lips. It's been a while since Stiles was able to feed himself, with his hands too shaky and muscles too out of sync with his brain signals. He already accepted that it was now Derek's job to do those things for him, overcoming the humiliation he felt the first time he had to let Derek dress him. It turned out to be... quite pleasant, after all.

...they ended up making out.

Stiles gulped the water eagerly, his hand reaching to help Derek tilt it up. He winced with each gulp, letting out a small noise of discomfort when Derek put the empty glass down on the bedside table, then leaned forwards to place a short and soft kiss on Stiles' lips.

Watching Derek leaning a little to the side to rummage through the bag he carried, Stiles fought to get rid of the pale pink tint he had blooming on his cheeks when Derek kissed him. No matter how many times they did that, having Derek so intimately close to him always made his heart race and his left wrist tingle and pleasant shivers run through his spine.

He smiled eagerly as Derek pulled a thick book out of the bag, placing in on his lap as he leaned back in the chair beside Stiles' bed and opening it at the marked page.

"Do you remember where were we?" Derek asked, smiling a little up at Stiles. A few weeks ago, they made a deal that Stiles would eat everything Derek gave him without complaining, if Derek read for him all the books on his list. Listening to Derek's voice read him made Stiles much more calm than usual, decreasing his rage fits and keeping him as happy as he could get. It worked well for both of them, Derek decided

"The battle," Stiles said slowly, concentrating to find the correct words. "For Helms D-Deep."

"Yup." Derek confirmed, then glanced down at the book, huffing a small chuckle. "I still can't believe you've never read The Lord Of The Rings."

"Didn't have t-time. Was busy... get Scott... to w-watch Star W-Wars." Stiles stammered hoarsly, voice scratchy.

"Oh well." Derek shrugged and gave his soulmate a playful, very unusual wink, ignoring the gaps in Stiles' sentences. He'd gotten used to that long ago. "Good thing I'm here, eh?"

"Just r-read, asshat."

"Okay. Bossy." Derek smiled. A genuine, real smile with teeth and wrinkles and everything that made Stiles' stomach flip a couple of times. He then looked back at the book, starting where they left off yesterday.

 _"'What of the dawn?' they jeered."_  Derek began, his voice calm and fascinating, making Stiles lean back against his pillows and close his eyes with a content sigh.  _"'We are the fighting Uruk-hai. We do not stop the fight for night or day, for fair whether or for storm. We come to kill, by sun or moon. What of the dawn...'"_

* * *

They should have noticed.

They should have paid attention. They should have suspected that when Stiles' cough didn't pass after four days, that something was wrong.

It was Pneumonia, the doctors said. A really nasty one. Being a hospitalized patient, Stiles was a target to all sorts of complications, and this was one of them.

It started as a common cold, or so it appeared. Then the fever came, and the chest pain. Stiles had hard time breathing, and every attempt at a deep gulp of air resulted in a violent coughing fit that left Stiles rough, panting and exhausted. Eventually, blood started making an appearance whenever that happened, and with it came tremors and cold sweat. It was a nightmare.

Derek was going out of his mind with worry. He refused to leave Stiles' bedside, even when the Sheriff tried to make him go and take a nap. They stayed on guard in turns with Mrs. McCall's special permission, changing the wet cloth on Stiles' forehead and making sure he drank enough water. The Sheriff abandoned the station completely, and he and Derek barely got any sleep at all in that lumpy chair at the hospital, panickly jerking out of a dream every few minutes and rushing to make sure Stiles was still breathing.

The doctors were clueless. They tried giving Stiles antibiotics, but his body seemed to be already immune to them. The infection in his lungs spread and took over his whole chest, and after almost two weeks of constant fear and exhausting worry, everyone silently knew Stiles probably wouldn't make his way out of this one.

On a sunday evening, Derek was the one left with Stiles while the Sheriff was getting them something to eat from the cafeteria downstairs. His head was resting on his folded arms, leaning on the edge of Stiles' bed and listening to his steady, ragged, shallow breaths.

A soft change in the sound and a hand in his hair made Derek jerk awake from the hazy state he was in. He bolted up in his chair, confused and sleepy eyes searching for Stiles' face in the darkening room.

"Hi." Derek whispered as his eyes found whisky brown. Stiles didn't answer, just kept breathing slowly, the mask on his face hiding his expression. His eyes fixed on Derek's, holding his gaze tiredly. His hand sneaked weakly over the covers, grasping Derek's fingers and squeezing as hard as he could. Which wasn't much, really. A shiver shook his body.

Derek tried to smile at him, but all he managed was a broken frown and a shuddering whine. He stroked his thumb over the back of Stiles' hand, a dreading, cold feeling worming into his heart.

"Glad to see you're awake," Derek mumbled in an attempt to seem cheery. Or at least not as scared as he really felt. He fixed the blankets around Stiles' shoulders, reaching his other hand to thread his fingers through his damp hair. Stiles closed his eyes tiredly, sighing. It was soft and gentle, intimate. But Derek couldn't shake the feeling something was terribly wrong.

"Stiles." He suddenly said, his throat closing as the words left his lips, fear seizing his heart. Stiles opened his eyes, finding Derek's green eyes again. "Is this... is this the end?"

The sad look in Stiles' eyes was all he needed to know the answer.

"I'm... I'm, sorry..." Was the soft whisper, a barely audible sound that Derek almost missed. A choked, wounded noise escaped his throat.

"No, no, please don't. Not yet." Derek mumbled, his fingers now trembling in Stiles' hair. How could this be it? They just found each other, they barely had time to explore each other. They should have had long years of happiness together. "Not yet."

Derek couldn't figure it out.

This couldn't be it. Couldn't. How could he lose someone like Stiles? He had read before about the tragedy of losing a soulmate, of the pain that followed. But nothing prepared him to this. He could literally feel the life seeping out of Stiles. He could feel the weakness spreading and the hole in his heart growing. The special place reserved for Stiles alone was emptying and turning into nothingness by the second, and Derek didn't think he could take it.

He wished it was him instead.

In a last desperate attempt, Derek concentrated all of his love and all the hope he could gather and pushed it through the Bond, trying to give Stiles everything he had. People could cure their soulmates, sometimes... right?

Then why. Why wasn't this working? He let out a frustrated, angry cry of grief, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. Derek tasted blood.

Stiles's fingers tightened around his in a silent gratitude, eyes fluttering closed. His breathing picked up a little, shivers shaking his body as he tensed, gripping at Derek's hand with a frightened whimper. The frantic beeping around them was drowned by numbness as Derek leaned in close, his eyes welling up with tears as he kept mumbling soft reassurances in Stiles' ear, trying to calm him down. He could feel Stiles' pain throbbing in his own chest, an agonized groan making it's way past his lips. Stiles took one more deep and shuddering breath. There was another shiver and a shaking, silent cry...

And then, everything stopped, and Stiles' hand released Derek' fingers and dropped to the bed limply.

Wide eyed and shaking, Derek couldn't avert his eyes from the lifeless body in front of him.

This was it. Stiles was gone... really gone. And with him disappeared a huge piece of Derek's heart and soul, leaving an empty, bleeding hole inside his chest.

A choked, disbelieving sob tore out of his throat, and then he closed his eyes shut, dropping onto the bed as he grasped at Stiles' body, shaking and screaming and choking on his own sobs.

He will never be the same.

The hustle of doctors and nurses rushing in and the deafening shriek of the machines around him wasn't even noticed. Drowned in his grief and shock, Derek couldn't care about anything. After a while, the Sheriff came back. And when he saw his son dead and cold he cried and screamed and held onto Derek with everything he had. Because if he let go, he'd die too.

Talia Hale was there with her arms open when Derek knocked on her door that night, soaked and dripping with rain and sobbing helplessly into his coat's sleeve. She held him as he cried until morning, and then a little while longer. But she knew nothing she could do would make it okay. The only one that could was gone.

Derek never came to the funeral, and the Sheriff understood. Stiles' father knew Derek well enough to linger in the emptying graveyard until everyone left, until Derek finally showed up. They stood there together in silence as the sun went down in the horizon, just staring at the small hill of fresh dirt where Stiles was buried, taking some sort of comfort in each other's presence.

Years later, they'd keep meeting there on the same day. And every year, when Derek would ask Sheriff Stilinski if it ever got better, the Sheriff would just smile sadly, and look up the hill, where there was another grave resting in cold silence.

And Derek would just know.

* * *

 

**" _There are no happy endings,_**

**_Endings are the saddest part._ **

**_So just give me a happy middle..._ **

**_And a very happy start."_ **

 

_-Shel Silverstein._

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me at [tumblr](http://tamyourue.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Reviews are food for a writer's soul.


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